


A Merciless God

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dom!Loki, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Extended Foreplay, Food Kink, God Complex, Humiliation, Lead up to smut, Other, POV Second Person, Public Scene, gender neutral reader, god kink?? lol, no actual smut, sub!Reader, ur feeding loki fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: warnings: essentially heavy foreplay, kinks (tagged above), food, drinking mentionall you really want is to serve loki and he's far too happy to oblige(i think the kinks r fairly mild but im also a heaping pile of sin so ,, fair warning)





	A Merciless God

**Author's Note:**

> gender neutral reader  
> Y/N = your name  
> responses of any kind r greatly appreciated!!!

“ _ Another! _ ” Volstagg shouts, slamming his mug to the ground. Your eye twitches when everyone erupts with raucous laughter as if they all hadn’t seen the routine a million times before. You didn’t mean to be such a killjoy, you were half Asgardian and had attended enough royal celebrations to become accustomed to their loud traditions, but sometimes Thor and his friends could be  _ so _ ...

Loki meets your gaze across the table with a raised eyebrow, and you jerk your head in the direction of the gardens, silently communicating in the way only best friends can. He nods as you stand, and you know he’ll meet you outside as soon as he can escape his brother’s watchful eye. 

Sighing, you weave through the crowded dining hall and towards the archways that lead to the blessedly quiet gardens. Dinner was extremely filling, but you stop at the lavish dessert table on your way to pick something for the two of you. Your motivations for assessing the sumptuous treats are selfish (Loki has never really been a fan of sweets), but it doesn’t seem right to deny yourself the pleasure of watching him eat when you’ll only be home for a little while longer. 

As the sole half-human ambassador to Midgard, you are required to live among and make contact with various important Midgardians on behalf of the royal family. You certainly appreciate the prestige of serving the king in such a unique position, but being away from everyone for months on end is hard. During that time spent from home, dirty thoughts are often your only company, so you intend on creating new sordid material to sustain you on your next mission. 

Screw Loki’s taste buds, you have needs.

You mull over the options, carefully considering how  _ good _ your lover would look eating each decadent item. A five-tiered chocolate fountain cascades over mounds of fruit, sparking images of warm chocolate dripping from Loki’s lips. Shaved ice spills over the rims of crystal goblets, and you shiver at the thought of sharing icy kisses. Countless cakes, cookies, and pastries are dispersed throughout the opulent display, further overloading your mind with embarrassingly detailed fantasies. 

You glance back at your friends, find Loki giving you a confused look, and become acutely aware that you’ve been staring at these desserts for  _ way _ too long. Quickly grabbing a slice of cream cake (ignoring both the obvious innuendo and the warmth in your lower abdomen that grows in response to said innuendo), you scurry outside to find a secluded seat.

There’s a little stone table situated behind topiaries of wolves and deer and ravens, far enough removed from the commotion of the gathering to grant you two some privacy, but not too hidden to warrant suspicion. You settle into one of the chairs, and try to divert your attention from inappropriate thoughts to the beautiful scenery. 

Clusters of white lilies and yellow alliums litter this area of the garden, illuminated by the gentle glow of elegant torches lining the outdoor space. The weather is beautiful; your outfit’s layers of silvery chiffon billow in the cool evening breeze and the cloudless sky would be perfect for stargazing. Normally, you don’t indulge in romantics because your relationship with Loki largely consists of merciless teasing (both in and out of the bedroom), but you can’t help smiling at the thought of sharing cake beneath the stars.

_ Cake.  _ Right.

Hoping to convince Loki that the slice is meant for both of you, you try a small bite, and are pleased to find it just as delicious as you had expected. You figure that sharing the cream cake is a lot less suspicious than presenting your lover with a layer upon layer of thick frosting and airy cake, ogling him as he tastes it. Loki is unaware of your weird food kink because he  _ still _ hasn’t shut up about being “your god” since you let it slip that the idea of being the subservient mortal to his transcendent godliness turned you on, and who knows how  _ massive _ his ego would become if you admitted to getting off from merely watching him eat.

Echoes of “kneel before your god _ ”  _ and “let me see just how  _ devoted  _ you are” begin to mingle with visions of sugar-coated tongues and soft bellies in your mind.

You whimper. Loki better get here soon.

You can see him from your table, still exchanging fake laughter and repetitive stories with Thor’s friends. He looks  _ particularly _ attractive tonight: draped in deep jade silks, sleek gold accessories sparkling, strands of ebony hair falling in front of blue sea glass eyes. And how his mouth shifts from sharp smiles to softly formed O’s-  _ gods _ . You can just imagine his pink tongue dipping into a spoonful of whipped cream, dragging the substance across his bottom lip.

You bite your own lip at the thought, and by some miracle, make eye contact with Loki. You mouthe ‘ _ hurry _ ’ and he finally manages to break away, gliding through the banquet hall to your hidden table.

“Is there something wrong, love? You’ve been acting very strange all night.” He sits down across from you, and you immediately notice how beautiful he looks in the torchlight. The golden blaze illuminates his skin and eyes, making him look utterly  _ godlike _ .

You gulp.

“N-nothing’s wrong. I got some cake for y-  _ us _ ,” you reply and slide the plate closer to him.

“Thanks, but I’m stuffed,” he waves a hand at the airy, decadent,  _ perfect  _ dessert, “Thor, the goddamn oaf, made me chug  _ three tankards  _ of mead just to win some ridiculous bet against-“

“But it’s  _ delicious _ ,” you interrupt, hoping that your desperation isn’t too obvious.

“I already told you that I’m not hungry, Y/N. Don’t pester me,” he laughs, quick and incredulous, but you can’t find it in yourself to so much as giggle. In fact, witnessing the glorious act of Loki eating seems  _ so  _ important that you huff, spoon a bit of the cake, and hold it directly in front of his mouth.

“Just try one bite,” you press, impatient arousal making you completely forego self-preservation, “ _ Please. _ ”

He furrows his brow, raises his hand as if he’s about to swat the spoon away, and then he smirks.

Oh no.

“My, my, my Y/N. Is there any particular  _ reason _ for this insistence?”

“W-what do you mean? It’s just- um. The cake is really, really good and I-”

“You and I both know you’re a terrible liar, so why not just tell me the truth, hm?” His eyes twinkle and all you can do is wait, your eyes darting between his dangerous expression and the mouthwatering spoonful of cream cake. His voice drops seductively as he continues, “I must admit, you’ve clearly been trying your  _ very best _ to hide this secret, sweetheart, but it wasn’t hard to notice you gaping at me every time I eat.”

“I don’t...” The protest dies in your throat, and Loki caresses your cheek in an exceedingly gentle manner, his cool fingertips ghosting across your face and down your neck. The gesture would almost be tender, but you know all too well how quickly his soft affections turn into merciless domination.

Your breath hitches. He pouts, oozing fake sympathy.

“Now, darling, explain whatever it is you desire from me so badly, and I  _ might _ grant your wishes. Spare no detail. I want to know  _ exactly _ what has my little Y/N so hot and bothered. That’s the least you can do for your god, right?” His mouth curves into a knife-like smile and he loosely wraps a hand around your throat, his thumb tracing small patterns over your goosebumps. 

“ _ Please _ , Loki. I just want you to eat this cake, okay? Pretty, pretty,  _ please _ ? Don’t make me explain it...” your whine immediately turns into a sharp inhale as his grips tightens around your throat. Your kinks are  _ nothing  _ compared to his domineering god-complex. He surely gets off on your embarrassment, your unease, your anticipation. He wants to make you fall apart with just a snap of his fingers, and you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded to comply.

“As much as I enjoy the sound of you begging, I do not believe I asked what  _ you _ wanted. Now, you’re going to explain, and you’re  _ not _ going to make me tell you a second time. Is that clear?” he growls, and you’re struck by the fact that he currently holds your tiny, insignificant life in his unimaginably strong hands. You nod, choosing his merciful release of your throat over your remaining scraps of pride.

“I want to watch you eat,” you whisper, gazing anywhere but his face, “I want to feed you and  _ care _ for you. I want... I want to see you indulge yourself on anything you like just because it makes you happy and just because you  _ can. _ ”

Once the words tumble out of your mouth, you finally manage to look at him, and you find that he isn’t wearing his usual sadistic grin. Rather, he’s smiling as if you’ve just given him the kindest compliment in the universe. You’re not sure whether the stirring sensation in your chest is gratitude or fear.

“Oh, pet. Aren’t you the sweetest thing? You did a very good job, but I’m afraid you missed something.”

“I did?” You frown. How could he possibly know more about your deepest, darkest fantasies than even you do?

“Yes. You failed to mention that the reason you love watching me dine, the real  _ core  _ of it all is that you love  _ serving me _ . You desire nothing more than to be beneath me, at my beck and call to grant my every wish. The fact that I look so attractive with a mouthful of some delightful dessert is merely a bonus.”

Fear. You should’ve feared him and his false gratitude because of course it would lead to this. Of course he could see right through you, right to the center of your being, and would be able to pluck out your most embarrassing desire. You wanted to hate him and all his intelligence and frankness and majesty and arrogance, but he looks down at you with those beautiful blue eyes and then...

“ _ Gods _ , I know. I would... I would do  _ anything _ for you,” you admit with a blush at both your astonishing level of submissiveness and the overwhelming arousal that being so openly, completely, beneath Loki brings you.

“Prove it,” he demands, tangling his fingers in your hair, “Will you do what I say right here, in the gardens, where anyone could discover us? Or is your devotion not quite that strong?”

“Of  _ course _ it is,” you gasp and squirm as he roughly tugs on your hair, leaving no room for hesitancy, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

He smiles, and his obvious sense of victory sends electricity down your spine. You’re no stranger to letting him take control, but your desires have never been so candidly discussed before. He’s always been domineering and relentless, so what would he possibly become knowing that you  _ craved  _ his authority? Fear only fuels your arousal.

“Sit on my lap,” he gestures you closer with a finger, “And feed me.”

“ _ Oh _ .” You hadn’t expected his request to be so... easy. Avoiding further protest (and punishment), you straddle his thighs and pick up the forgotten spoonful of cake with a sigh of relief. His cool, calloused fingertips trace patterns over your scalp and onto your bare shoulders. You lean in, raise the spoon to his lips, and somehow fail to anticipate his next strike.

“With your hands.”

“ _ No  _ that’s- I can’t just shove my fingers into this cake like some oaf, Loki!”

“Ah, you disappoint me, sweetheart,” he tuts and leans impossibly closer, leaving an aching centimeter between your lips, “First, you deny me. Now, you dare call me by my first name?”

He hisses, signalling that you’re teetering on the edge of punishment, and roughly grips each of your thighs.

“I’m feeling particularly generous, so let’s try that again. Do as I say, or there will be  _ consequences _ .” His words land in the pit of your belly, and what was once a tempting warmth becomes a white-hot incendiary. That irritating submissiveness bubbles up yet again, forcing itself out of your parted lips with a breathy moan.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go on then,” he urges, his hands still squeezing your thighs as you set the spoon aside. You sink three fingers into the mounds of icing and cake, and sense his fierce gaze, undoubtedly just waiting for you to make a mistake.

Messy dollop of cake in hand, you immediately begin to tremble. The air clings to your heated skin, and his icy stare provides no relief. Loki smiles, sinister and cocky, slowly extending his fingers to your inner thighs. The pressure, so achingly close to where you wish it would be, almost distracts you to the point of letting the cake topple from your outstretched hand. But, you know how crucial your good performance is.

“Please, sir, open your mouth.”

His pupils widen, hunger invading his confident expression. He parts his lips to reveal a slick pink tongue, which you’re almost surprised to find isn’t forked. You shift closer, forcing the cruel god to snake his hands ever upward, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You tentatively put your fingers into his mouth and place the cake on his tongue, his soft exhales warming the chilled dessert. He curls his tongue around the offering, sinfully dipping between each of your fingers to gather every last bit of the luscious treat.

You take the liberty of dragging your cream-covered fingers down his plush bottom lip. Spit and sweetness mingle inside his gaping mouth, sugar running down the porcelain skin of his chin. Ever so slowly, he closes his mouth, flutters his eyelids shut, and releases a moan of approval.

You gasp.

Loki’s cool fingertips have found their way to the soft skin of your stomach, and you melt under his touch. He opens his eyes to reveal a wicked gaze, then drags his tongue along his bottom lip, collecting the remaining trails of frosting. With a harsh tug to your garment, he pulls you against him, and you’re convinced that he can feel your hammering heartbeat in his own chest.

He kisses you, hot and open-mouthed, neither of you able to disguise your desire. He tastes of vanilla and he’s pushing his tongue against yours and his insistent palm clutches the nape of your neck. Your head spins. The sensations are far too much at once, but you desperately want more.

“ _ Please _ ,” you whimper into his mouth. He replies by sinking his teeth into your bottom lip, shooting waves of pain and pleasure into your entire body.

“Please, what?” Loki pulls away, openly appraising your dishevelled state. You seize the front of his robes, wantonly arching into him.

“Please, fuck me, sir.”

“Oh, dearest, how could I deny such a request?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with an affectionate look, that sinister tenderness returning, “Your god is nothing but merciful, after all.”

You gulp.


End file.
